


And then we bang!

by IShipIt32



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Bad Flirting, F/M, Humor, Light Angst, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShipIt32/pseuds/IShipIt32
Summary: Tired of her boyfriend cheating on her, Sansa decides that it's time she gets what she wants, and what she wants in a certain grumpy dog.





	And then we bang!

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't remember where this came from, one minute I was working and then I was writing a few lines about Sansa wanting to bang the Hound. It was partly inspired by the scene between Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling in Crazy, Stupid, Love (great movie) where she says something about the PG rated scenario. Next thing I know, I can't get the idea out of my head so I wrote the thing... you know, since I'm trying to not take it too seriously.
> 
> Anyway, here goes nothing!

Sitting in a crowded room, feeling utterly alone even when surrounded by her boyfriend and his friends, Sansa wondered why the hell she was still there. She knew he didn’t love her, not anymore and probably never had. What he loved was her last name, her money and her aura of power. She was pretty sure he didn’t even like her too much, he definitely didn’t like her personality or her intelligence, as he thought she had none, and though it hurt her ego to accept it, he didn’t like her body either. How many times had she sat down and watched him all but devour other women with his eyes, sometimes even taking it a step further and reaching out to touch them, a cheeky smile on his face, his bright eyes working on younger girls like a charm? She didn’t love him either since she was being honest. She didn’t care for him as she had cared for Joffrey in the beginning, she hadn’t fancied herself in love with him or dreamy about his eyes and smile. But Harry was safe, unlike Ramsay and not as creepy as Petyr and so she had fallen into a boring relationship out of convenience, it was more a business deal than anything else. She had a boyfriend, was officially out of the market, so no other man approached her, tried to flirt with empty words or fancy treats. He got her business contacts, the right to drop her name in conversations and start making a name of his own in her circle. It was a farce, and she knew that the moment she decided to dump him, he’d sink back to the ground. She had been okay with letting him play the big leagues because, in the beginning, he had been a bit more cautious about his affairs. Now, now everything had gone to hell. 

She didn’t know if she had ever loved a man, but she thought she had. Was it possible to love but not have fallen in love?That was exactly what she thought happened to her. She never fell in love with him, he was rude and crass and his words had made her cry more than once, he had broken her heart too, the night he left her with nothing but a memory. But she had loved him nonetheless, for his honesty, for his soft touches when the world around tried to break her, for his advice and the times he saved her. The first time he did was when he told her that she might as well save herself some tears and chirp what Joffrey wanted to hear. The second time she was sure that he didn’t know what he had done, a brief encounter in the Riverrun where he looked straight into her eyes and insulted her, his words had echoed for days after: "So you’re a pawn again? And here I was, thinking you were meant to be a queen". That was back when Petyr still had power over her, just after she met fucking Ramsay Bolton. He woke her up, woke the wolf in her, so she decided to pull a move out of Petyr’s own book and outsmart him. She let him believe that she was falling for Harry, that he was her one and only, and in the end, she played them both. Unknowingly, he had saved her from one man but delivered her to another. By the time they met again he already knew about Harry, well, he knew that the public did. If he knew more, he didn’t tell, but a small part of her had longed for him to wake her up again. 

Now, as she drank her second glass of wine and listened to Harry sharing the same story for what felt like the thousandth time, she had woken herself up. She didn’t need Harry, she was her own person, Littlefinger was gone, and she had both her home, her family and her company back. 

I’m Sansa Stark, she told herself, I’m fucking Sansa Stark.

Once more she looked around, Harry had an arm resting on the table and the other one around the back of some girl’s chair. He was smiling brightly at everyone but her, immersed in his own story and marveling at his deeds. Sansa took her half-full glass of wine and drank it all in one go, no one even noticed. Feeling pumped, she took a deep breath and suddenly stood up, purse and coat already on her hands. 

“Harry, I’m done,” she announced earning a confused look not only from the man in question but his friends as well, “It’s not working out, it never did. You’re free to sleep around as much as you want. I’m done.” 

She didn’t give him time to come up with a lie, but deep down she already knew that he didn’t care enough to do so. He didn’t come after her, and as she walked away, she could hear his friends calling her a bitch. Maybe she was, she had just broken up a nine-month relationship just like that, not minding that Harry had traveled to visit her or that she dumped him in front of some college friends, or business friends, or who knows where they all met. The cold air of the northern nights made the wine go straight to her head as if gods sent, a taxi came into her sight, and she called for it. Climbing in, she gave one of the few addresses she had managed to learn by hard.

She had been acting on impulse, not stopping once to think about her actions or their repercussions. The drink, the talk, the jumping on a cab and blurting out the address of the one place she thought she might find him. It never really crossed her mind that he might not be there, that maybe it was the odd Friday night in which he hung out with friends, or gods forbid, had a date. It hit her the moment she threw some bills and stepped out of the cab; when the bright light of the sign hit her eyes and she realized that it was quite late and that she was alone in the opposite side of town and that she was actually really hoping that he’d be there. 

Sansa took a few step forward, the automatic doors opening for her as she entered the building. Everything was so bright inside; suddenly she realized how out of place she was with her short cocktail dress and high heels. The noises of metal clashing against metal, the thuds of sneakers running in the treadmills and of boxing gloves hitting skin broke her out of her trance. Looking up, she surveyed the room, the second she saw him, her stupid resolve and bloody impulse overtook her. There he was, taller than any other man in the room; his broad shoulders led to strong arms that seemed to be lifting heavy weights; his back led to a narrow waist, shorts covered his legs but allowed the view of sculptured claves. For a second she thought of Joffrey and his sorry build, it wasn’t until she discovered her like for real men that she realized the importance of leg day. For some reason he was wearing a baseball cap, maybe to keep his hair out of his eyes while covering his scars; his earphones on, his eyes glued to his reflection on the glass making sure his form was good. The gym got more silent with every step she took, the click of her heels against the floor becoming almost deafening, she was the center of attention, and for once, she wasn’t scared of it. She was a wolf, a wolf who had set eyes on its prey, she was a wolf, and she was not afraid. Heads turned as she crossed the floor, walked among machines she barely knew how to use, and made a beeline towards the man who still paid no attention to her. It took someone dropping a big weight to break his concentration, she jumped a little but kept walking. In a second, his eyes were all over her, doing a double take to make sure she was there and he didn't imagine it. Surprised, he dropped the weights and took out an earbud, a question forming on his lips. 

Three steps, two steps, one step. She didn’t even stop for a second as she reached him. Sansa didn’t allow for a moment for him to ask his question, she walked right into him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him straight in the mouth. His lips felt different than any other lips she had ever tasted, a good different. They were soft and warm, a bit dry and a bit salty but overall pleasant. They weren’t wormy, they weren’t cold, they weren’t probably infected with a disease, and they weren’t attached to the face of a man who wanted her mother. The scared portion of his lips was rugged, and she found that she liked caressing them with her tongue, it felt almost ticklish. She let go of his neck a little when he wrapped his arms around his waist, securing her to him, and she allowed her hands to reach up, try to finally touch his hair. It was damp with sweat and only then did she realize that it wasn’t pulled up, sometime in the last two months since she last saw him, he had cut it off. Running her fingers through the back of his head, she felt a shiver travel down her spine. 

“Fuck,” she heard him mumble the second her lips were off his. She took two steps back and giggled a little as Sandor Clegane, the man with the most solid build and sure step she had ever met, tumbled forwards a little bit. She looked straight into his eyes, aware of the entire room paying close attention to their every move. 

“Yes, that’s next. Take me home” she said and started walking away, making heavy muscled men steer clear of her path. She must have been almost halfway across the floor when she heard steps behind her and all of the sudden a loud cheer from testosterone filled men. 

Sansa couldn’t stop smiling; she could hardly believe that had worked so well. She had never acted so recklessly, what she had just done was something Arya would have done, not her, not proper little Sansa. She was feeling high on power, on the power a tiny little thing like her could have over a man like him, a man who had just walked out and followed her into the dark. She was high on life and maybe a little drunk too because when Sandor Clegane stepped outside, looking a little flustered and maybe even doubtful, she quietly walked up to him for the second time, took his big hand in hers and told him to lead the way to his car. 

“Are you drunk?”, he asked once they closed the doors and she was working her seatbelt, her courage slightly wearing off at the sound of his raspy voice. 

“No… maybe a little. Take me home, Hound.” 

In all the years she had known him, she had never been to his place. Back when they both lived at the Baratheon’s mansion, she had never walked to his wing of the estate, but then again she had been a stupid little girl who wouldn't have been caught hanging out with the help. Later, in the brief time they had met in Riverrun, they had lived in different towns. It was thanks to Arya that she had found out that he was living North, her little sister had once told her she’d be going out for drinks and later, at the wee hours of the morning, sent her a text saying she’d be crashing at Clegane’s. That was nine months ago, around the same time she started dating Harry Hardying, they had met twice in that time. The first, when he dropped Arya off at Winterfell and the second when they had bumped into each other at the same coffee shop in town; it was during that conversation that he told her how he usually spent his free time at Tormund’s gym. He never came around to tell her how he ended up at Riverrun or up North and again; hadn’t pressed the issue. And now she was standing in the foyer of his apartment, taking in his living space, trying to read who he was now. 

“Sansa…” 

“Do you still like wine? I want some wine or scotch if you have it. Neat.” 

She knew that if he let him talk he would start asking questions and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want questions; she didn’t even want answers, she was through with empty words, she wanted actions. She wanted him, and she wanted some more alcohol. As Sandor disappeared to what was obviously the kitchen, Sansa stepped into the living room and kicked off her shoes by the big sectional couch. The rug under her bare feet felt plush and clean; there was a wooden table and a flatscreen TV, a lamp, a big sofa and a pile of books on the floor. The place looked clean, she liked it, she wasn’t about to say that but she did. Behind her, a switch was flipped and two lights came on, soft yellow light drowned the room, and then there was a shadow and a strong presence next to her, and when she opened her eyes, a glass with a good measure of scotch was presented to her. Needing some liquid courage, Sansa took a long drink, swallowing so fast that she was sure her father was turning on his grave for the offense she must have committed. It burned as it went down her throat and she coughed a little, which earned her a laugh from Sandor. Suddenly she was mad; she didn’t need him laughing at her, she needed him burning for her. 

“Where’s the bedroom?”, She asked as she finished her drink, only then did she notice that he wasn’t drinking. She got angrier, standing up, the alcohol rushed straight to her head, and she stumbled, as many times before, his hands were there to steady her up. 

If she thought the alcohol burned its way down, then Sandor’s touch was the equivalent to that scotch on her skin. His rough hands were gentle on her skin; they had always been, his body oozed warmth and his chest almost blocked her entire view. She looked up, trying to find his eyes but only saw a shadow under the visor of his hat. Pushing herself on her tiptoes, she reached for his lips once again, this time their kiss wasn’t as hungry, it was a slow burn that made her feel wonderful things in her heart and the pit of her belly. It was the feeling of warm sand under her feet, a hot shower after a getting caught in the rain, the smell of a vanilla scented candle, it was too tender, and she didn’t need tender. Fiercely, she deepened the kiss, her hands cupping his face, smooth skin and scarred skin, the feel of surprisingly soft hair of a well-kept beard and then the angles of his cheekbones and the line of his jaw. She went and bit his lower lip, that ought to turn him on, right? Only that she got too excited and bit too hard and then he was pulling away, saying ow and checking for blood with his hand. 

Embarrassed and a little guilty, Sansa broke out of his embrace and walked past him, there were two doors in front her and two to the right. She guessed the closest doors would lead to a bathroom and a storage area. Swaying her hips slightly, she went to the farthest door on the left and hit the jackpot, inside the darkened room she could see the outline of a huge bed. 

“Are you coming?” her voice was rough if it was out of desire or because of how the scotch had burned her throat she didn’t know. It didn’t sound like her, it sounded like someone else, someone older and sexier, someone who was used to being in control, and she loved it. Sansa was feeling quite sexy until her stomach growled loudly, cursing slightly louder than she meant to, she tried to think when she had last eaten. Definitely not with Harry at that stupid lounge, not before pre drinks over at the hotel bar, maybe lunch? Why hadn’t she eaten something? 

“Come on girl, if you’re planning on fucking me you’ll need your strength,” Sandor said and went into the kitchen. 

A bit defeated but trying to keep her cool, Sansa walked towards the aisle that separated the kitchen from the dining area. She sat on the high stool and let her feet hang; it reminded her of Sunday morning breakfast with her parents and siblings what felt like a million years ago. Shrugging it off, Sansa looked at Sandor who was raiding the fridge. 

“Okay, okay, first food but then we are going in there, and we’re fucking”, she hoped he didn’t notice her wincing at the crude word, “I will take another drink too.” 

“Trying to get drunk, girl? Need some liquid courage to fuck an ugly dog?” He asked as tossed things on the kitchen counter. There was no anger in his voice, maybe a little sadness, but he didn’t address it. It wasn’t like him to talk about feelings, and for once she was grateful for that, “I’m not wasting any more of my good booze on you if you’re going to chug it like a college girl,” he said as he placed a beer in front of her. 

“I don’t really drink beer,” Sansa said as she took the bottle in her hand and saw Sandor working on what was probably a sandwich, “And I don’t need any liquid courage.” 

“Take it or leave it, princess.” 

She knew exactly what he was doing, he had gotten better at his stupid games of putting her between a rock and a hard place, but shit, she wanted to be there, only that she wanted to be between him and a hard place. Yes, he had gotten good at it, but she had also improved her game. So she made sure to lock eyes with him first and then slowly reached for the bottle, taking a finger to run the length of the neck and then slowly, and hopefully seductively, taking the bottle to her lips before running her tongue around the rim and drinking the beer. Sansa saw Sandor’s eyes darken and smiled, she broke eye contact and casually took her beer back to the living room, a few minutes later, Sandor joined her with two plates and a bag of chips. 

“No tomato,” he said as he used a plate towards her and she couldn’t help but smile because he remembered, “Urg, I’ll be right back, I… I’m all sweaty.” 

He tried to stand up, but she placed a hand on his knee, the feeling of his skin under her hand sent shivers down her spine. She had never really touched him before, not on his bare knee most definitely, the hair under her fingers felt different, all the other men she had touched before had lacked the hairiness that Sandor had, the one only her father and brothers had too. He didn’t seat though; instead, he stood up and let her hand fall off his leg. Things happened in slow motion then, Sandor took off his baseball cap and exposed the side of his face that had once shocked her. She had never told him that it wasn’t the scars that scared her, well, not only the scars. It had been the anger in his gray eyes, but she wasn’t about to tell him, she hadn’t reached out to him for a talk. Turning to face her, this time it was him who held her gaze as he slowly took his shirt off. Sansa could feel her body getting warmer, a furious blush creeping up her chest and reaching her cheeks at the sight of his taut stomach, the well defined V that deepened into his shorts and only enhanced his six-pack, the toned pecs that laid under his dark chest hair. How was it that she used to think she liked her men fair? She took him in, tried to commit the image to memory but as soon as she started to feel comfortable enough to ogle him, Sandor sat down, threw his feet over the coffee table and reached for his sandwich. 

“So, wanna tell me what’s this all about?” 

His voice broke her trance; she let her eyes travel from his crossed feet to his torso, arms and then rest on his face. His scarred side was away from her, he somehow always found a way to sit or stand on her right; only now did she realized that she hated it. She didn’t comment on it; though, she decided to take a few minutes to take in his new haircut. For as long as she had known him, he had used his hair loose and shoulder length or tied at the nape of his neck; seeing him with a trendy haircut made him look… cleaner, manlier even if that was possible. She liked it, she liked it a lot, and she wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through his hair again. 

“I’m going to eat this sandwich and then we’re going to bang”, Sansa replied trying to sound nonchalant and digging into her sandwich. It was good, so good, and she was starving all of the sudden. 

“Bang?”, he asked with a mocking chuckle, “Kids still say bang?” 

“I’m not a kid so I wouldn’t know. And yes, we’re banging, doing it, hooking up, having sex… I’m running out of synonyms here.” 

“Fucking,” he said, helpful as ever. 

“Fucking, yes,” she agreed, the blush coming back to her. 

“And why are we ‘banging’?” The mischief in his voice was evident, his good eyebrow raised as if daring her. Sansa took another bite of her sandwich and chased it with a long swing of her beer; she felt like a badass, a cool chick who drank beer and hung out with guys with hot bodies. Then she burped and felt like an idiot, that was why she didn’t drink beer. 

“Because,” she said and finished off her beer, “I’m tired of being second best, tired of my own boyfriend, wait, ex-boyfriend, eyeing every single female in the room like he wants to fuck her. Gods, probably not just eyeing them too.” 

“Okay, that’s valid. Why me then? You could walk into any bar and there’d be at least ten guys who want to do you.” She knew that tone, his I-don’t-care-so-you-can’t-hurt-me tone. She hadn’t asked herself that question, not when she stormed out or found herself in front of the gym, she had merely known inside her that he was the guy she needed. Taking a minute to think things through, well, as much as the alcohol let her, Sansa took a breath before speaking. 

“That might be true, but I remember how you looked at me all those years ago in King’s Landing, and then again that one time in Riverrun. You want me, don’t you? At least you used to”. 

His hand went to her face then, a big hand cupping her cheek gently, fingers twisting a strand of loose hair. His touch felt tender; his gray eyes looked soft. 

“Aye, I wanted you back then. Still want you.” 

Sansa wanted to close the distance between them, whisper in his ear that she had subconsciously picked him not only for that but also because she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, but that would bring feelings into the table, and she didn’t want that, didn’t need it. She wanted a bang, a not so quick rut in a dark room, she wanted to feel powerful and in control. The room was growing tense, the mood being slowly murdered. 

“We’re done eating,” she declared as she took Sandor’s empty plate along with her half-forgotten sandwich back to the kitchen “And you’re behind on your drinking, so I’m going to drink with you because you shouldn’t drink alone.” 

He didn’t follow her, which was fine by her because she needed to get her head in the game, she would not let him distract her from her goal with his soft touches and tender gestures, she had needed those years ago in King’s Landing though she didn’t know it back then. She had also needed his touch in Riverrun, but he had left without even saying goodbye. No, no feelings, she reminded herself. She thought of going through his cabinets but lacked the patience to do so, instead, she took a beer for him and then a Margarita cooler, she wanted to ask about it, why a man like him would have such a girl drink, but she knew it wasn’t her place to ask. She found him standing against the back of the couch and couldn’t help it as her eyes drifted to his torso. He looked like the Warrior; she wanted to touch him so she offered him the beer and then reached out to him. He hissed when her cold hand touched his skin, but he didn’t move away, with a finger she traced the outline of his pecs, went down his sternum and right down the middle of his abs. She felt his eyes on her hand as she reached his bellybutton and twirled the hair that led downwards. 

“We should take it to the bedroom,” he said in a raspy voice, so she took him by the hand and led him to his room, she heard him curse under his breath and laughed. 

Sansa wanted to complain when he turned on the lights; lights weren’t part of her plan, so she went and turned them back off. The sneaky bastard used that time to break away, loudly close the bathroom door and sit on the bed, he kicked off his shoes, took a swing of his beer and left the bottle on the nightstand. She remained frozen in her place; there she was, in his apartment, in his bedroom, with a little black dress and nursing her… was it her third? fourth drink? She didn’t care. Needing encouragement, she drank half the bottle in one take, something she hadn’t done since her early college years. The sugary drink went down smooth, her head started spinning a little, fuck. A bit shaky, Sansa made her way to the end of the bed and sat down, she should have sat with both legs hanging from the bed instead of one leg under the other but what was the point? So what if he could probably see her underwear, he was going to see her naked before day broke. Trying to be sexy, Sansa got on her knees with the intention of crawling over to him only to notice that she couldn’t crawl with a bottle in her hand; against her better judgment, she finished off the now too sweet drink and placed the bottle on the floor before starting her tipsy crawl.  

She could feel the sweat forming on her brow but hoped he wouldn’t notice, not with the view of her cleavage she was giving. Gravity was helping, of course, and with his eyes locked to her chest, she tried to push down the sick feeling she was getting in the pit of her stomach. She crawled between his feet, placed her hands on both his thighs and ran her nails against them, one hand going under the leg of his shorts made him shiver. She was feeling great; she had the upper hand, she owned him. Her eyes dropped to the forming bulge between his legs, and she wondered if he was proportional, he must have been, everything about his stupid body was impressive, why wouldn’t his manhood be impressive too? He took her by the upper arms then, just as she was shamelessly eyeing his crotch, and pulled her to him. She lost her balance and fell hard against him, his arms circling her waist, that was the place she wanted to be, she went down to start kissing his neck when her stomach churned. She knew that feeling, she knew what was coming, and apparently, he knew too because he casually let her go just before she dashed out of bed and into the bathroom. 

After a few moments, she heard soft steps and then the door being pushed open. She didn’t dare to look up, both out of embarrassment and because the room was spinning so bad under her. Sansa felt a warm hand rubbing her back and another one holding her hair. Tired, she let her forehead rest against her arm and braced herself for the lecture, a lecture that never came. As soon as she had finished throwing up her life, Sandor softy pulled her away from the toilet, flushed and stood up to damp a hand towel which he pressed against her forehead. Slowly, Sansa stood up and rinsed her mouth, when her eyes finally focused she could see a stupid smirk on Sandor’s face. He ushered her back to the bed, fetched her a sports drink and two aspirins which she took without complaint. 

“I should shower,” he said softly as she placed her clammy hands on his forearm, “I was all sweaty from working out, you know?” 

“Okay, shower, I’ll rest a little and then! Then we’re banging.” 

Her tone, though weak, didn’t leave any room for objections but she should have known that she wouldn’t find any. Instead, Sandor Clegane reached behind a pillow and fished out his pajamas. She complained, loudly, saying that he didn’t need those, that she would be taking off his clothes anyway so putting them on would be a waste of time. Rolling his eyes, Sandor let her have that win, but he let out a string of curses that she hadn’t heard him say since the days at the Baratheon mansion. She giggled and pulled his shirt to her; it might have been his familiar scent on the t-shirt or the darkened room or the sound of the shower running but she closed her eyes for one minute, to rest her sight, and slow down the world and then she was falling asleep and she couldn’t fight it.

When she woke up, she was still hugging Sandor’s shirt; the room was slightly darker than she remembered, but at least it wasn’t spinning anymore. Feeling extremely uncomfortable in her dress, Sansa turned around looking for Sandor. She found him quickly; he was laying next to her, wearing pajama pants and nothing else, gods was he a sight. Sansa took the chance to look at him, this time she didn’t gape at his body but his face. She was on his right side, his scars fully displayed to her. She found that he looked more handsome now that he wasn’t trying to hide his scars, his former look made him look shabby, and nothing about that man was shabby. She rose to her elbows and placed a soft kiss on his scarred cheek; he had once told her that he didn’t have much feeling on that side of his face but his eyes shot open nonetheless. 

“You’re awake”, he said. 

“And now, we do it.” 

Sandor stretched like a cat and let a soft growl out to which Sansa couldn’t help but laugh. He looked at her, raised an eyebrow and then launched on top of her, making her laugh at his sudden movement. He rested his weight on his elbows and Sansa couldn’t help but think that she would love to feel the weight of him over her, maybe later she would find out, definitely later. She took the chance to run her fingers through his hair, starting at his temples and going all the way to the back of his head; his hair was already dry, and it was so soft, she wondered if it was this soft when it was longer. He was staring at her, the intense gaze he had her under was the entire reason she had upped and left Harry and his stupid friends, the way Sandor was looking at her like she was the only girl in the world. Bolder now, Sansa placed both of her hands against his chest and softly pushed him back, she had him lay down again and straddled him. It was a beautiful feeling, to look down and have him at her mercy; she had never slept with Joffrey, but she couldn’t bring herself to imagine doing that without crushing him. Ramsay… Ramsay was something she didn’t like to think about, and whenever she was with Harry, he always seemed uninterested, like he didn’t care who he was doing as long as it had a pulse and brought him release. Sandor’s hands on her waist brought her back from her musings, the warm touch of his hands on her tights, suddenly her dress was choking her. She tried to reach the zipper but fell short, luckily for her, Sandor seemed to be attentive of her every move and helped her by lowering it himself, though he was painfully slow with the deed. 

His eyes on her were so intense that she shivered, outside it was raining, only now did she realize that. She smiled, thinking it was the perfect setting for her stupid act of bravery. Inspired and with music playing in her head, she reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it off. The second she did, a hand went from her tight to her tummy, and she felt something twist, not like before, but like something she had never felt in her life… were those the butterflies that people always seemed to talk about? She didn’t know; she didn’t want to know either, tonight she was banging him, not intertwining their souls. She wasn’t wearing any fancy lingerie, just a plain pair of black lace panties and a matching bra but she felt beautiful, proud even. She was slowly reaching behind her back to unclasp the bra, that would be the final push he needed to break his cautious resolve, and just as her fingers reached the strap the loud sound of thunder striking made her jump. 

He laughed then, laughed loud and wholeheartedly. He laughed so hard that the hardness Sansa felt beneath her was not his dick but his core contracting. She was about to climb off when there was a soft brush of hands against her calves, and then he opened his eyes and looked at her, that stupid smile making his eyes shine. She couldn’t help it, his laughter reeled her in, and the two of them laughed hard and good for a few minutes. When he finally calmed down he had put his feet on the bed and Sansa was leaning against his thighs, using them as a backrest. With the moment gone, she was starting to feel a little self-conscious about her state of undress, though not all the contact of her skin against his, she had also realized how the room was a bit colder than and shivered a little. 

“Here, you’ll catch a cold,” Sandor said and offered her his shirt. 

Reluctantly, she put it on, letting the soft worn fabric brush against her skin. Being immersed in his scent felt glorious, slightly intimate even. Feeling silly, she climbed off him, he pushed himself up and rested against the headboard while she sat crossed legged before him; she looked around the room and found a hair tie on the nightstand, pulling her hair into a ponytail, Sansa let a sigh out. 

“I know what you’re doing,” she accused him softly as played with the hem of the oversized shirt. 

“And what am I doing, Mrs. Stark,” he mocked, one arm going across his chest and the other one thrown on top of some pillows, if she didn’t know better, Sansa would have thought that was an invitation. 

“You’re stalling.” 

“Forgive me for not wanting to, what was it? Yes, bang. Forgive me for not banging you while you were drunk.” Sandor said with a prominent eye roll.

“I'm not drunk anymore,” she countered, all that anger that was coming and going from her all through the night finding a way back into her at that moment, “I’m not drunk, I saw the way your eyes darkened when I undressed and yet you do nothing.” 

He grew silent then, out of all the times she had wanted him to remain quiet, this was not one. She wanted him to tell her that he wanted her, she wanted him to touch her and kiss her and warm her up. She wanted him to stir things in her that she didn’t know she had. She wanted to see if his touch was as intoxicating as his kiss had been. Wanted to try her luck once more because that kiss back in the living room had been better than the one she had imagined and she wanted to see if sex with him would be everything she thought it would be. 

“You don’t want me.” She said, plain and fast because it hurt and she was sober now, completely sober, and she was ashamed. She should have known it wouldn’t work; she wasn’t Arya, she couldn't be impulsive and get away with it. The night had gone to hell the moment she had chugged down that scotch, now she could see it. She could also see now that she hadn’t picked him at random, or because he wouldn’t hurt her. She had chosen him because she wanted to know what it would feel to be treasured. Because he made her feel safe, because he had once offered to keep her safe and she should have taken him up on that offer. 

“I do”, he said quietly, his hand finding her knee and drawing circles on it, “I want you”, he took a deep breath and let it out, “So you really want to bang?” 

“Yes.” 

“You want to bang. You want to do it, hook up, have sex”, he recited all the synonyms she had used, and Sansa couldn’t feel but smile at him. 

“Oh shut up!”, she said with a smile. 

He pulled her to him then, tucking her away under his arm and running his hands through her hair. Had she known that smiling at him would be the thing missing to get that party started, she would have smiled brightly from the second they walked through the door, then maybe she would have banged him already. She looked into his eyes feeling content, feeling safe, and then tiredness overcame her and she let out a big yawn. She cursed under her breath and then looked up, Sandor was still smiling. 

“How about we take a quick power nap and then when we wake up… if you still want to, we will.” 

He didn’t quite wait for an answer, as she complained about his overuse of the word bang and how he was surely doing it to mock her, Sandor had already slid down the bed and pulled the covers over them. Sansa had dared to dream of kissing him, of being intimate with him but she had never really allowed herself to dream what it would be like to sleep with him. She had longed for his company, of course, but it was only a hollow feeling in her heart when she slept in her cold bed, never a longing to have him in it. Now, as he pulled her close to him and she realized that he was the perfect height to make her the little spoon, Sansa couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Sandor Clegane liked cuddling; he sure didn’t look like a guy who would. As his breath steadied, Sansa wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was her that brought out the cuddler in him. 

She woke up first, this time she could tell two things: first, that their little power nap had lasted at least a couple of hours because the room was no longer pitch dark. Instead, there was some light starting to break; it was the hour of the wolf, how very convenient. The second thing she noticed was that this time, Sandor was really asleep. There was a soft rumbling in his chest, his arm rested heavily on the curve of her waist, and when she tried to move, he growled a little and pulled her closer. That was when she noticed a third thing, a long, hard thing that was. Worming her way closer to him, Sansa felt him bury his nose in her hair and breath in deeply before unconsciously pulling her even closer to him; his breathing changed and she knew he was starting to wake. 

“You’re hard,” she all but whispered, her hand finding his and intertwining their fingers. 

“That’s what happens when you work out and eat right,” he mumbled and slurred, he sounded like he wanted to go back to sleep, but she was having none of it. 

“That’s not what I meant,” she said and pushed her butt against his groin, gaining a deep growl from him that tumbled through her body, “I’m sober, awake and I haven’t changed my mind.” 

“You have to say it,” he mumbled, his words coming easier now, his body accommodating to hers even more. 

“Lets bang,” she said with a soft laugh that quickly turned into a moan. 

His breath felt warm against her neck and his beard was brushing her skin, slightly burning it with each kiss he planted on her. It was a good burn, a burn that would leave a trace and she liked it because she would have something to help her remember every feeling he was stirring in her. It wasn’t that he was a particularly good kisser, well, she really wouldn’t know, but what she did know was that he was kissing her as no other man had ever kissed her before. She pushed her body further into his, his arousal pressed into her bum, and she threw a hand over her head to cup his face. She tried to turn around, she wanted his lips on her so badly, but his hand on her waist kept her still. Slowly, his hand went over the elastic on her panties, and she drew a breath in; she was a little disappointed when he went north instead of south. But his hand was warm and soft and big, and then it found her breast, and she cursed because she was still wearing her fucking bra. He didn’t push it, he didn’t reach for the strap on her back or tried to pull the fabric down, she had hated it when Harry did that, she felt that he was ruining her very expensive bras, but she wouldn’t have minded if Sandor did. 

Once more, she tried to turn to face him, this time, he allowed it. She instantly threw her leg on top of his, the need to have him closer, feel him closer, was overwhelming and all that was just from having him touch her. He thrust, apparently involuntarily because he tried to pull away, but she seized the opportunity to push him on his back and straddle him for the third time. He was up with her in a second, that gloriously sculpted core being put to work as he sat right up and kissed her square on the lips. It wasn’t possible how his kisses kept getting better, how each one was different from the one before. Back at the gym, he has been almost unresponsive and then tenderly cautions, in the living room it felt hungrier but still tender, this kiss was slow and deep and was consuming her from the inside. His lips were firm but didn’t hurt, his tongue ran across her lips but didn’t push into her mouth, one of his hands was cupping her face, and the other was under her shirt, running down her back. 

In one swift motion that surprised even herself, Sansa got rid of the shirt and undid her bra. Her body felt hot; she was sure to be blushing but then the air in the room was colder on her warm skin, and the mixture of that along with Sandor’s hungry look made her nipples harden. She threw herself at him, quite literally this time, knowing that he’d catch her, he always had, he always would. She devoured his lips, left a trail of kisses down his jaw and neck, ran her fingers through his chest as she dug her fingernails into him. His body was as responsive to hers as she was to his and she loved it. She loved feeling the hardness is him against her stomach and the heat that radiated from his skin. She loved how she could make him moan and how he whimpered a little when her hand tranced his arousal over his pants. He rolled them over, getting on top of her, his body between her legs and she slid a hand down his back under his pants. He wasn’t wearing any underwear; her thoughts died there as she felt his hand going over her ribcage, a finger tracing each bone before once again cupping her breast. This time, without any lace between them, a soft moan escaped her lips as he brushed his thumb over her nipple. 

She thrust up, her hips desperately trying to meet his, her fingernails raking across his back; she hoped he wouldn’t get mad about that later. When she finally reached the small of his back she noticed that his pants were hanging lower, she couldn't reach them with her hands, so she tried to pull at them with her feet. He froze for a moment, and she thought that he would finally cooperate and take the damn thing off, but he didn’t. Instead, he pushed himself up and sat on his hunches, a look of desire and heartbreak recognizable on his face. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked suddenly concerned. Had she done something wrong? They had been enjoying each other; she was more than eager to keep going. 

“I can’t,” he said and ran his fingers through his hair, the hunger had left his eyes when he looked at her again. “I thought I could but I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand a thing. He was hard for her, she could tell. She was wet for him; there was no way he had missed that she was happy and comfortable and that was the best foreplay she had ever had, and yet Sandor was pushing her away saying that he couldn’t. He couldn’t what, to be exact. 

“Can’t what?” she asked. Feeling exposed on so many levels, she reached for the discarded shirt and threw it back on, she pulled her knees to her chest and made herself small, reading for the blow. 

“I can’t do this. I can’t have a one night stand with you.” as if the distance between them wasn’t enough, he got up and went to stand by the comforter across the room. 

Somehow she knew he wasn’t finished; there was something in the way his words hung in the air that told her he wasn’t done. Tentatively, she reached for the night lamp and sighed out in relief when she found it had a dimmer. With the room slightly better lit, Sansa waited for him to continue. 

“You’re not the kind of girl who has one night stands, Sansa. And it’s not because you’re a goodie two shoes or because you’re a perfect little lady. It’s just not who you are, you know?” he ran a nervous hand through his hair once more, and she bit her lip in silence as she heard him vocalize what her mind had been trying to scream before she drowned it in alcohol. “You deserve more, Little bird, so much more. You deserve a man who will treat you right, worship you like the goddess you are, be amazed in your perfect body, drown in your deep blue eyes. You deserve a man who will love your silly ways to say fuck, who awes at your intelligence and your kind heart.” 

She couldn’t help but tear up a little as she heard his words because that was precisely what she wanted. That was what she was afraid she would never find. Letting a tired sigh out, Sandor crossed the room and sat by her. 

“I can’t have a one night stand with you because it will end me,” he said. “Because to me, there is no other woman but you, and if I lay with you, if I learn how you feel and how we fit together, I will have to live the rest of my days with that bittersweet memory. I’ve already kissed you, already breathed in your scent, already felt you under my hands, under my body, I’ve seen you in almost all your glory straddling my lap. You’ve ruined me, Little bird, and you don’t even know it.” 

“Oh, don’t you know, Sandor?” she asked trying to get closer, pulling him to her as she desperately threw her arms around him, “if you think that is to be ruined, you have ruined me too.” 

Sex with Sandor was beyond what she had ever imagined. It was soft and sweet and then rough and passionate. It was careless and intense, and there was no fear, no judgment, no half felt going through the motions. She was his at that moment and silly as it might sound, she knew he was hers too. That night, or rather that morning, she fell asleep to the raspy sound of his voice, the warmth of his embrace and the slight tickle of his beard against her neck. When she woke up, he was already awake, looking at her with the intensity of a man who is afraid to blink out of fear of losing everything. She smiled at him, laced his fingers with hers and brought them to her lips. 

“So...”, he said, “we banged.” 

“We did”, she agreed with a smile. They didn’t just bang, she knew it and so did he, “hopefully we can bang again sometime soon... if you want.” 

“Yeah,” he shrugged as he stretched a little, “yeah we can do that. I’d like to take you our to breakfast though. Would that be okay?” 

“Yes,” she replied with a smile, her heart filled with contentment, “yes that would be just fine.” 

“And then we bang?” he mocked her. 

“And then we bang.”

 

THE END.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make this carefree and fluffy and happy but I couldn't avoid a little angst, why can't I just let them be happy?! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you think! 
> 
> Also, I'm working in a more canon story but since English isn't my native language and there are so many freaking things to consider, I kind of take breaks from that by writing Modern AU pieces... Anyway, I guess I just wanted to put that out there. Once more, thank you for reading!


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